What a Difference a Year Makes
by DreamWeaver529
Summary: Neither Kurt nor Dave exactly had a great year. And both have no reason to think next year will be any different. They couldn't be more wrong. Kurtofsky. Set after 2-10 "A Very Glee Christmas".
1. Home for the Holidays

A/N: I've never dedicated any of my stories before, but this one definitely deserves a dedication. This is for all the wonderful Kurtofsky writers out there who sold me on this relationship. Without all your wonderful stories that implanted the scenes that made me need to write this story, I never would have even considered writing a Glee fic. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed your wonderful creations.

Legal stuff: I don't own Glee, but I do own this story. Let me know if you like it.

* * *

Dave ran the sponge around the rim of the last of the lunch glasses. His hands had long since turned to prunes. It was his own fault, really. He should have known better than to try and snag another roll from the kitchen before the dishes were done. His grandmother had spotted him and put him to work. It could have been worse. At least the assorted aunts, uncles and cousins hadn't descended on Gram's house yet. Most would be there for Christmas Eve dinner that night. And this way, Dave already had his washing in.

He stared out the window as the water swirled down the drain. Snow and ice covered the quarter acre that made up his grandparent's back yard. As it did almost every year. It was tradition. As much as spending Christmas Eve in the old farm house that Dave's dad had grown up in. When Dave was little he decided that the reason the family stayed at Gram and Gramp's was because they had a chimney, and Dave's place, less than an hour's drive away, didn't. So here, Santa had a way in. And now it was just what they always did, even though they ended up shoved in like sardines by the time all his dad's siblings and there assorted kids packed into the house. Dave's bed consisted of a sleeping bag wedged in between a closet door and the bed his twin sisters, Abigail and Rebecca, shared.

Dave was drying off his hands when Gram came into the kitchen. She was a solid woman, not fat by any means, but with a lot of the Old Country in her. Strong shoulders and hands. Dave's mom always said that Dave had a lot of Gram in him.

She smiled at him as she made her way to the stove and turned the burner on under the large, ever-present kettle.

"Have a cup of tea with me," she said. It wasn't a question. Dave smiled and pulled two mugs from the drying rack and put them on the table before sitting down. He watched as Gram moved around the kitchen, getting the tea bags and the pot. "It's so good to have you kids in the house again. With Gramps gone, this big old place get's kinda quiet."

Dave ran his hand through his short hair. He didn't like thinking about that. Gramps had always been there for him, always at his games. It was hard to believe that he had been gone over a year now.

The kettle whistled and Gram filled the pot and took the seat at the other end of the table.

"So," she said slowly, "Your father tells me you've been having some trouble at school"

Dave's heart dropped. He did not want to have this conversation. Not with Gram. "It's nothing."

"Nothing?" she asked, her eyebrow lifted towards her silver hair; "C's and D's are nothing?"

Dave shrugged, his eyes on his empty cup in his hands. He didn't know what to say. He didn't care about school. He didn't like being there. Not that he'd admit it, but even though Hummel had transferred to a different school, he was everywhere Dave looked. Hell, he was all Dave could think about. Dream about.

That kiss. God he wished it hadn't happened. He didn't want the memory of how Hummel's lips felt against his own. Or the horrified look in Hummel's eyes when he'd gone back for a second. Or how, for one split second, he had felt gravity turn off, and his insides had turned upside-down and all the crap he carried ever day had just floated way. Because if he had never felt it, he wouldn't want it so much.

He heard Gram sigh, "Give me your cup."

He passed it over without looking up. When she put it back in his hand it was full of steaming tea. Dave busied himself with adding sugar, trying to distract himself from his thoughts and hoping Gram would just let the matter drop.

"And Paul tells me you were almost expelled for bulling." The emphasis she put on expelled made Dave wince, and the way she said bulling made it sound like the word left a dirty taste in her mouth. "What could you possibly be thinking David?"

Dave sighed; Gram was the only person that called him David. No matter how many times he'd asked her to call him Dave, she just smiled at him and kept right on calling him David.

"It's no big deal Gram," he said, his eyes still on his tea, "It's just some fag at-"

Gram slammed her cup onto the table so hard the lid of the sugar jar clanked against its base. Dave's eyes flew up in surprise. The look on Gram's face was frightening. He had never seen such rage. Her mouth was a thin line and her eyebrows were pulled down tight across her brow.

"Do not ever let me here you use that word again. Ever." Her voice was ice. All Dave could do was nod. She stood, leaving her tea on the table, "I expected better from you David."

She left the room without looking back. Dave sat there for a long moment, staring that her cup. Tea pooled around its base. He vaguely realized she had slammed it down so hard it had spilled.

Dave became aware he was trebling. His mind was whirling. Gram never got mad. Ever. Even when he was ten and had broken her mother's vase from the Old Country by playing hockey inside when he knew he shouldn't. Gram always loved him. No matter what.

Something wet splashed on his hand. Only then did he realize he was crying.

* * *

Kurt sighed and stared out the living room window. It was too hard to look anywhere else. Everything was wrong. Everything. The tree had colored lights, there were greens on the mantle rather than a wreath on the door, and there was prime rib in the oven. A prime rib! No turkey, no stuffing, no cranberry sauce.

Granted he couldn't see any of that from here, but he could smell it. And it was just so wrong.

Intellectually he knew that things were going to change. His dad was remarried. They had to blend two family traditions. But there was nothing left of the Hummel traditions. But then, Kurt hadn't been home to make sure they happened like he always had before. His dad probably didn't even know where the tree decorations where, so they had used Carole's. Kurt hadn't been home to go shopping for the turkey and the fixings, or to cook them, so Carole had cooked what she liked.

Kurt couldn't help but sigh. It was his own fault really. He had stayed at Dalton until this morning. Ostensibly catching up on school work. But Blain had left last night and he couldn't skip Christmas all together. And he had been hoping for…something. Some connection. Some sense of fulfillment. He just felt so empty.

He had felt empty for a while. Dalton was not what he had thought it would be. True, there were no physical altercations, no verbal threats. But it was like they were trying to make him fit into they're 2D world, and, Prada knows, Kurt was definitely 3D. So the best he could do was make himself thin. Metaphorical speaking. And it left him feeling…hollow.

"Hey, bro," Finn's voice broke into his thoughts.

Kurt pulled on his best fake smile and turned from the window, "Hey yourself."

"So," Finn said, rolling back on his heels, "What do you think of the tree?"

"It's…" Kurt groped for an appropriate, non-critical word, "…colorful."

"Yeah, it's the way me and Mom have always done it." Kurt looked at Finn, really looked at him, for the first time since he got home. He looked tired, worn. By the look of him, Kurt would bet things were not going well with Rachel.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked, reaching out and placing his hand on Finn's arm.

Finn sighed, "Yeah. It's just…life sucks."

Didn't Kurt know it.

* * *

A/N: I do not have a beta reader. If anyone would like to sign up for the passion, give me a PM. Otherwise, feel more than free to review and let me know what you think. (Like many other muses, mine is an attention glutton. The more reviews you feed her, the harder she'll ride me to write down what she's whispering in my ear.)


	2. Dreaming: Dave

A/N: Be aware: this chapter will earn its M rating. If male/male attraction (or sex for that matter) is not your thing, please leave now. If, however, you are like me, enjoy!

* * *

Dave walked down McKinley's main hallway, a blue slushy in his hand. It was for Hummel. He had to give it to Hummel. But when he got to Hummel's locker, all that was there was a gaping endless black locker shaped hole. Dave did his best to ignore the pain that bloomed in his chest. His feet kept moving, taking him to the door to the Gleek room. He pulled open the door…

…and stepped into his darkened bedroom. He gently shut the door behind him, not wanting to wake the figure curled in the center of his bed, buried beneath the sheets. Dave stood in the dark for a long moment, his eyes on the mound under the covers illuminated by the moonlight falling through the window.

The figure in the bed moaned and stirred. Dave moved cautiously forward, his bare feet making no noise against the hardwood floor. When he reached the bed he hesitated, not knowing if he should sit or not. He could taste his nervousness.

The boy in the bed turned onto his back, revealing Hummel's beautiful sleepy face. He smiled up at Dave, one hand thrown over his forehead. Gravity turned off again and Dave's stomach flipped.

"Hey," Hummel said, his voice deeper than usual with sleep, "That for me?"

Dave looked down to his hand and the bouquet of blue flowers clutched there. Delphinium's, like the one's Gram grew up her front walk. Did Hummel even like flowers?

"Yeah," Dave said, his voice rusty and cracked. Not knowing what else to do, he thrust them towards Hummel.

"They're beautiful," Hummel said, sitting up to accept them.

Every muscle in Dave's body locked into place as the sheets fell away to show Hummel's naked chest. Dave couldn't breathe. He was perfect. Not overly muscled, but lean and lithe. His flawless skin seemed to glow in the moonlight. Dave's palms itched to run over the expanse of his chest, down his sides, to slide the pooled sheets further down his body.

Dave wanted to curse the flowers when they blocked his view. He watched as Hummel brought the flowers to his face, inhaling deeply, before putting them down on the headboard's shelf. The seductive smile he gave Dave send shock waves through him. All of which came to rest in his groin. He had been aroused since he stepped into the room. Now he was fully hard. Hummel crooked his little finger at him and whispered, "Come here and let me thank you properly."

Dave couldn't move fast enough. As soon as Dave was kneeling on the bed beside him, Hummel cupped his jaw, running one hand trough Dave's short hair to the back of his head. With a strong pull, he brought Dave's lips to his own.

Dave momentarily lost his balance, but refused to break the kiss. Instead, he fell into the kiss, wrapping one arm around Hummel's back and using the other to catch them. Another shift left Hummel clinging to Dave's chest, his back two feet off the bed at the shoulders. One of Dave's knees came to rest between Hummel's, the other was pressed against the outside of his hip. Hummel locked one arm around Dave's neck, pressing them together from waist to shoulder. He could feel Hummel's heat burning through Dave's t-shirt. God, he wanted more, even as he angled his head to deepen the kiss.

Hummel moaned, but before Dave could pull back, concerned he'd gone too far, he felt Hummel's nails bite into his scalp. Dave couldn't hold back a moan of his own.

Dave shifted his attention, breaking the kiss to run his lips down the column of Hummel's throat. Hummel's whimper of protest quickly turned to another moan of pleasure as his head fell back, giving Dave the access he craved. He let his tongue follow the line of Hummel's collar bone, nipping at the flesh lightly before placing a kiss at the hollow at the base of his throat.

He felt Hummel shift beneath him. He felt the pressure of a foot run up the back of his leg before Hummel's toned leg wrapped around his waist and over his butt. Hummel used this new point of contact and his amazingly strong legs to pull himself up. Dave lost all ability to think, or even breathe, as the hot, lithe, body slammed into his throbbing erection.

Dave's breath left him in a wheeze as Hummel rubbed himself against him, purring. The arm Dave had wrapped around Hummel slid down the other boy's body. He gripped the firm ass, cupping it in his large hand. He had meant to stop the rocking movement that was pushing his control fast beyond his reach. But the only way to do that was to hold him tightly against his body, pressing Hummel's erection into his own. It was little better.

He stayed that way for a long moment, panting into the crook of Hummel's neck. He could feel Hummel's smile as he pressed a kiss into Dave's temple.

"Dave," he whispered, his voice so thick with lust that it sent a shiver down the length of both their bodies.

"Dave," he said again, his voice higher and pitchier. A frown tightened on Dave's forehead. Hummel's voice was always perfectly clear. So clear it always sent a shiver of awareness down Dave's spine.

"Dave." Dave woke up to a face full of pillow. He groaned and tried to push it away. It withdrew back onto the bed above him. He heard one of his sisters turn over, then Becca mumbled down at him, "Stop rocking the bed."

Dave lay on his back for a moment, trying to take stock of his surroundings. His sleeping bag was twisted around his waist. Which was probably a good thing, even though it was cutting into his gut. Because it hid his throbbing hard-on from his sisters. Who were sleeping lest then two feet away.

God, he was such a perv. He had just come ridiculously close to having a wet dream, a gay wet dream, while sharing a room with his 14 year old sisters. He had no idea how he would have dealt with it if Becca hadn't woke him up. He knew that he had been very close to cuming. Hard. He had had that dream before, and many others like it. All with Hummel warm and pliant beneath him. Or above him. Dave had to bite back a moan at the image of Hummel straddling his hips, a passionate, cocky smile on his lips as he leaned down to kiss him. Just the thought made his dick throb.

Time for another train of thought. Crossing his arms above his head, Dave tried to pull up the congregations from the last French quiz he flunked. Nope, nothing. He closed his eyes and pictured the teacher at the board, reciting the different forms. That helped. Until the image shifted, and it wasn't the teacher, it was Hummel. And he was perched on the edge of the desk, his legs oh so sexily crossed at the knee. The words sounded so sexy on his lips as slowly unbuttoning his shirt, reveling inch after inch of smooth skin.

Dave forced his eyes open. Okay, that wasn't going to work either.

He sighed as he unwrapped himself from the sleeping bag. He would be able to get back to sleep until he got this lust out of his system. If he laid here and tried to let it pass, he would just slip back into the dream. Leaving the room as quickly as he could, he made his way to the bathroom and the shower. And a date with his right hand.

* * *

A/N – Originally, this had a second half: Kurt's dream and its aftermath. But I think this is long enough on its own. Never fear, I'll get to Kurt next time ;)

I would also like to say thanks to the reviewers. Especially those that mentioned that they like Gram. I was a little worried that she came off a little too strong. You'll find out in a chapter or two that she has very specific reasons for reacting the way she did. Anyway, I hope you all stick with me at least until I get to that part. I actually have a basic framework for a full year story ark (as the title suggests), but really, it's up to you guys if you want to read it all. Let me know and I'll keep writing.


	3. Dreaming: Kurt

Kurt walked through the big main doors of Dalton Academy, his head held high as always. As he walked through the halls every eye followed him. A proud smile grew on his lips. Finally. Finally they were seeing him for the individual he was.

And then he heard the laughs behind him. The snickering. The whispered comments. His smile faded. As he walked pasted one of the classrooms he caught his reflection in the glass of the door. He stopped and stared. He wore nothing but his underwear. They were school blue with red trimming along the seams. And the same horrid, itchy fabric of the jackets.

Kurt took a deep, steadying breath. It could be worse. He could be wearing ill-fitting, no-name jeans and a t-shirt with a tractor logo on it.

With another breath, he turned and continued down the hall. The boys were actively laughing at him now. Pointing and elbowing each other. The door at the other end of the hall opened and Blain, flanked by the leaders of the Warblers, moved with purpose towards him. Blain's normally handsome face was distorted by an evil grin. In that moment he was the ugliest person Kurt had ever seen. And then Kurt saw the lime green slushy in his hand.

Kurt stopped dead in his tracks. He wanted to run. To get away. But he couldn't move. All he could think was without clothes this was going to be very cold. Blain came closer and closer, swirling the icy drink in his hand. He pulled his arm back to fling the contents at Kurt. Kurt couldn't even close his eyes.

Before the liquid hit him, Kurt felt a strong, warm, arm wrap around his waist. The world whorled around him. When he could breathe and see again, his face was buried in a large, warm, chest covered in a black t-shirt and a letterman jacket. He could feel two large hands resting on his hips. Kurt pulled back to look up at his rescuer. But he couldn't make out the face, just the most amazingly deep brown eyes. Staring into them, Kurt felt excitement flutter and pool in his chest.

"You okay?" a deep, slightly familiar voice asked.

All Kurt could do was nod. He felt one large thumb run over the skin just above the band of his underwear, up along the sensitive skin of his side. A shiver ran through Kurt. He half shut his eyes in response. But his rescuer misread his shutter and pulled away. Kurt bit back a moan of disappointment, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. But his rescuer didn't withdraw. Instead, he shrugged out of his jacket and laid it gently over Kurt's shoulders.

Instinctively, Kurt pulled the lapels tighter together, burying his nose in the fabric. It smelled of leather, soap, and boy. Another shiver ran through Kurt. He blushed when he realized that the jacket wasn't long enough to cover his underwear and the highly noticeable erection within. He looked at his rescuer to see if he had noticed.

If he had, he gave no notice of it. His eyes were on Kurt's face. He reached up and ran the back of one finger down Kurt's cheek, whispering, "So beautiful."

He stepped forward, bringing his body in contact with Kurt's from chest to knee. Kurt couldn't hold back the moan when the other boy's erection pressed against his lower belly. A shiver soon followed as warm breath stirred the hairs on the side of his neck.

They stood like that for a long moment, just breathing. Then Kurt felt the whisper of lips against the skin behind his ear. His knees giving out, Kurt clung to the t-shirt to keep from crumpling to the floor. Two arms wrapped around his waist like bands of steel. It didn't scare him. It made him feel supported. Protected.

Kurt let his head fall to his shoulder, giving the lips free access to his neck. As they moved along the length of his jaw, he felt one of the hands slid lower, until it cupped his ass in a firm grip that pulled them closer together. They moaned in unison.

Shifting slightly, Kurt brought his hands up to wrap in arms around his rescuer's neck. The lips blazed a trail across his cheek before brushing lightly against his lips.

Kurt's reaction was immediate and fierce. Burying his fingers in the short hair at the back of the other boy's head, he brought their lips together in a demanding kiss. He ran his tongue over the seam of the other boy's lips and smiled when they parted for him.

He felt himself being lifted up as the kiss deepened. He had moved his hands to the top of his partner's head, his upper arms resting on the wide shoulders while his forearms pressed against the back of his rescuer's head. When Kurt felt himself being gently deposited on the edge of a desk or table, he automatically spread his knees to accommodate the other boy's hips.

Kurt's rescuer broke the kiss, and Kurt had to bite back a whimper of protest. It turned into a moan of pleasure when a kiss on his chin turned into a slow exploration of the length of his throat with lips and tongue. Liberated from their duty to keep Kurt upright, the other boy's hands began exploring. They ran up Kurt's back, before one cupped the back of Kurt's neck, again supporting him. The other ran down the length of Kurt's spine to play across the hollow at the base. Kurt bit down hard on his lip. That particular patch of skin was extremely sensitive. The feel of the large, slightly callused fingertips playing gently over it sent shivers of electrical awareness through Kurt.

Kurt found himself leaning back into the arm supporting him, seeming to have lost all control over his muscles. Well almost all of his muscles. He could feel his cock throbbing as the hand skimmed over his hip. When the hand slipped inside his underwear and took a firm grip on Kurt's erection, he couldn't hold back the moaned, "Oh, great Gaga."

He vaguely heard a deep chuckle as the hand began to work up and down his length with practiced expertise. Kurt began to whimper. He was close, so very close. As long as the hand didn't stop…

"Say my name," the other boy whispered in his ear. The hot breath on his neck pushed Kurt closer to the edge, making him whimper again.

"Say my name," the boy repeated, his teeth grazing Kurt's earlobe.

Kurt panted, trying to catch his breath enough to speak. As his orgasm crested over him, he managed to moan, "Dave."

Kurt opened his eyes to the ceiling of his bedroom.

He took a shuttering breath, trying to push away the adrenalin rush that had forced him awake.

He hadn't. He hadn't…Kurt tentatively pulled the sheets up and peered down at his favorite blue silk pajama bottoms. He had!

He had just had a wet dream about Karofsky. His cheeks flamed read. No, no, no. This could not be happening. Getting up he made his way to the bathroom to clean up, once again grateful that he had a full bath to himself. The pants waded up and in the empty laundry hamper, Kurt stared at himself in the mirror. He hardly recognized himself. His eyes were sunken and his hair was a mess.

As he stood there, naked in front of the mirror, part of himself argued over what was worse, the fact that he had had a wet-dream about Karofsky or the fact that in said dream he had called him Dave. Kurt gave a derisive snort. The dream in its entirety. Period.

Why, why, why, for the love of McQueen, was he dreaming about Karofsky? Sure, if he was going to be honest with himself, Karofsky could be handsome. If you gave him a complete personality transplant. But he was tall. And strong. And his face was well proportioned. If you could get past the leer.

Kurt pushed himself away from the sink. This was not worth thinking about. It was just a stupid dream. It didn't mean anything. Except maybe how desperately he needed a boyfriend. Yes. That was all this was about.

Happy now that everything was back in its place, Kurt pulled on another pair of PJ bottoms and crawled back into bed. He would not think about this anymore.

And he succeeded. Well, except for the feeling of ghost lips against his own as he slip back to sleep.


	4. History

A/N: Okay, I admit, I'm odd. For many reasons. But specifically here because, like most of my imaginings, while I was writing this chapter I felt the need to find a floor plan for Gram's house. Just in case anyone else cares, I have included a link. I will do my best to be clear enough that you won't have need to look it up.

Just replace the stuff in the [] with the indicated punctuation mark: www[dot]houseplans[dot]com[slash]plan_details[dot]asp?v[equal]1&id[equal]19660

Oh, and this is a bit of a heavy chapter. I don't mean to offend anyone. I do apologize if I do.

* * *

Dave sat in the kitchen, a cup of hot chocolate in his hands. While the shower had taken the edge off his lust, chances were that if he wasn't totally exhausted when he went to sleep he would simply end up right where he started. Dreaming of Hummel. Of kissing him. Touching him.

He had three options really. He could stay up till his eyes wouldn't stay open. Unfortunately it was already 4 AM and the younger cousins were sure to start the morning early. He could exercise until his body simply shut down. But the house was full, so the punching bag in the basement was out, and it was too cold outside to run laps. Or he could drink himself into oblivion. He really liked that idea. He just couldn't figure out how to get around the people in the front room who were sleeping between him and Gram's only liquor cabinet. With a deep sigh he abandoned the idea. Gram would kick his butt if he tried anyway.

And she wasn't happy with him at the moment. He had known she'd be disappointed in his grades. Both her and Gramps were always saying 'The one thing no one can take away from you is a good education.' But that wasn't what had set her off. That's what he didn't get. Why did she care about the bulling? About his word choice?

Sure, he used the words fag and homo and whatever as a cover. Azimio and the guys wouldn't suspect him of being gay if he was at the forefront of the attack. And maybe if he said it enough, hated it enough, he would be fixed. He just wanted to be normal. To like looking at the Playboys Azimio stole from his Dad's supply. To kiss Brittany or Santana and fell half of what he feel when he kissed Hummel. Hell, feel anything when he kissed a girl.

Pushing his cup away from him, Dave let his forehead fall to the table with a dull thud. He felt so alone. There was no one he could talk to. His sisters were totally out of the question. They were too young and, well, girls. His parents were also useless. Both of them were always working. And really, who voluntarily talked to their parents about sex. Even the youth minister at the church Mom dragged him to every Sunday she wasn't working was not someone he could confide in. Even with his spotty attendance, he couldn't count all the times they'd had people witness who had just come back from some camp and were now fixed. And Dave so wasn't ready to go off in the woods with a bunch of guy's he didn't know and talk about how Jesus could fix everything if they just worked hard enough. Dave wasn't sure he believed enough in God that He would bother with him, anyway.

He lifted his head and let it fall gently back to the table. The old wood made a dull sound.

"Careful there," a voice said softly from the doorway, "The table may be thick, but I doubt it has much of a chance against your thick skull."

Dave looked up to see Gram walking into the room. Her old lamb skin slippers made no noise over the hardwood floor. She ruffled his hair as she walked by him, "I should know, you get your thick-headedness from me."

He watched as she moved to the stove and put on the kettle. The dancing flame of the propane stove lit the bottom of the stainless steel kettle an eerie blue.

Gram sat down beside him, putting her hand on his arm. Dave wanted to say something to her. To apologize. Something. But he didn't know what to say. He didn't even know what to apologize for.

"I want to apologize," Gram said, echoing his thoughts. "I shouldn't have gotten mad at you like that.

"Not that I condone the use of that language," she continued, patting his arm to emphasize her words. "But I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"It's okay," Dave said, putting his hand over hers.

"No, David, it's not," she said, shaking her head. She looked so sad. Like she used to just after Gramps died. "It's not fair for me to take out all my anger that comes up with that word on you."

Dave was getting more confused by the moment. Why would hearing the word 'fag' make Gram mad? She wasn't gay. She'd been married for decades. Happily married. All his aunts and uncles were married. Some not so happily. But none of them were gay either. The only messed up one was Dave.

Panic sliced through him. She knew. Why else would she react that way?

As his heart prepared to take off out of his chest, the kettle started its low pre-whistle. Dave pulled in long deep breaths as Gram got up and pulled the kettle off the heat before it could start its full-throated whistle. He ran one hand over his head, trying to figure out how to get out of this. The thought of lying to Gram left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had never lied to her. Not since he was like five. Partly because she always saw right through him, and partly because she was the one person he could tell anything to. Well almost anything.

He had gathered his scattered thoughts enough to attempt an escape from the room when he felt Gram's hand on his shoulder. He felt her hesitation in her touch as much as he heard it in her voice, "David, I need…I think you need to see something. Know something."

Dave looked up at her. He had never known her to be so hesitant. His own panic was forgotten. He just wanted to fix whatever was hurting her, "Sure, Gram. Whatever you want."

Gram nodded and some of the tension left her face. Dave felt himself relax a little. Her mug of tea in her hand, she led the way out of the kitchen. Dave pushed the chair away from the table as quietly as he could and followed. They tip-toed through the family room full of sleeping people. One of Dave's younger cousins had thrown a leg out of his sleeping bag and Gram paused to tuck him back in before moving on.

When they reached the door to Gram's bedroom, Dave hesitated. He couldn't remember ever going in there. Though he couldn't remember ever being told he wasn't allowed. He had just always known. That was Gram and Gramps' space.

Sensing his hesitation, Gram turned back to him with a smile and waved him forward. After closing the door behind him, Gram turned on the light. Dave blinked at the sudden brightness. As his eyes adjusted, he took in the room. Like the rest of the house, it reminded him of his grandparents. The bed was covered in an old quilt. The wood bed frame and bedside tables looked like they came from the Old Country, but had probably been made by Gramps years ago. It was clean and neat. Unlike his own room, the only dish in this room was the mug Gram had just put down on one of the small tables.

Gram had moved into the room and now stood beside the door that led out to the covered deck that all but surrounded the house. In the corner stood a small table. On its top was a collection of black and white pictures. As he approached, Gram picked one of them up. Dave scanned the rest of the frames. He didn't recognize anyone in the pictures. If he had to guess he'd bet that one of the pictures of a couple solemnly looking out at him was Gram's or Gramps' parents.

When Gram held out the picture for him to take, Dave looked back to her. To his surprise there was a tear in her eye. Taking the frame, he looked down and then did a double take. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn that it was his face looking out at him. But the photo was old. As old as any other on the table. He looked up at Gram, his mouth hanging open.

"My brother, the eldest of use," she said, her smile was sad, "His name was David."

Another shock ran through Dave. He looked back to the picture. On close examination, he could see the differences in this face from his own, but the resemblance was scary. Dave had to swallowed twice before he found his voice, "I didn't know you had a brother."

"He didn't-" Gram's voice cracked. The sound was like a hot brand in Dave's gut. "He didn't make it out of Poland."

Gram moved away to sit on the edge of the bed. Dave couldn't move.

"He was murdered by the SS. It was the reason my parents risked running. We couldn't stay there after that." Dave could hear the tears thick in her voice. He realized he was crying too when the picture blurred.

"Why?" Dave asked, "Why did they…"

He couldn't find the words. He looked up, hopping she understood his question. Gram wasn't looking at him, but staring out the sliding glass door into the darkness. She took a shuttering breath before she answered, "They were harassing his boyfriend. David tried to protect him."

Dave stared at her in total shock. His 'boyfriend'? He tried to process the information but his mind couldn't seem to grasp it.

"I was across the street. I watched-" Her voice broke again and she wiped at the tears that poured down her face, "I watched as they beat him to death. They yelled all those words. My sister had to hold me back or I would have run to him. She covered my mouth to muffle my screams. Or they would have come after us."

Her eyes moved back to Dave's, "I was ten."

She stood then, moving to stand in front of Dave. Her hands covered his on the frame, "You don't really understand the hate that is in those words. The type of hate that kills thousands and thousands of people.

"Promise me, David, promise me," she said, her hands squeezing his, her eyes boring into his very soul, "promise you'll never use that word, or any word like it, ever again."

All Dave could do was nod. His eyes turned to the picture. To his namesake. His gay great-uncle. And tried to figure out who that made him.


	5. Home is ?

A/N: I tried to write a Kurt chapter, but all my ideas just felt like filler. Or stuff I'd already put out there. So, more Dave it is. Besides, there's a lot more stuff happening to Dave right now.

* * *

Oh, and please don't worry too much about dear Dave. I'm known as the Queen of Angst among my friends. I will make

Dave stared into his mug of coffee. Tea got him through Christmas Day and halfway through the next. Now, two days later, he would be mainlining espresso if Gram had a machine. He sighed and took another draft of the highly creamed and sugared liquid.

He didn't know why his family had extended the normal two day visit to Gram's, but he wasn't curious enough to ask. His mind was too preoccupied with its own thing. Not that he was thinking very clearly about anything. There were too many different thoughts spinning around in his head. It didn't help that he wasn't sleeping much. Every time he succumb to the exhaustion that plagued him, he would dream. And it didn't matter if it was erotic or nightmarish, it had the same effect. He would thrash around on the floor and wake up his sisters.

Dave had always been a kinetic sleeper. He so often fell out of bed growing up that his parents had gone out and gotten him a king-sized bed when he was thirteen. It was built low to the ground, with a wide headboard to eliminate the need for bedside tables. Dave could still remember his dad cussing up a blue streak as he fought to get the mattress up the stairs. It had helped though. He only fell out of bed one or two times a week these days. And there wasn't anything for him to smack his head on now.

Rubbing the palm of his hand against the knot of tension between his eyes, Dave tried not to think about the dream that had woken everyone in his bedroom up at five this morning. But like the stupid pink elephant, trying not to think about it made it impossible not to think about.

He had been in one of the baths in the locker room at school. As nice as the circulating hot water felt, it was nothing in comparison to the feel of Hummel snuggled up in his lap. The dream tub was bigger than the real ones, giving them enough room for Hummel to sit sideways. They were both laughing. Dave had run his fingers through the other boy's hair, and Hummel had splashed him for it, before leaning in to kiss him. Dave could remember the sense of peace that had enveloped him. Then the football team had come in. Jocks and Gleeks alike had yelled at them, pulled them out of the water. And has hard as Dave had fought, he couldn't break away. He tried to get all their attention on him, so they would leave Hummel alone, so that he could run. But it didn't work. They had both been dragged, naked, onto the football field. The stands had been packed. Everyone was cheering like they would at a game.

Bile rose in Dave's throat and he took another drink of coffee to keep his breakfast down. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't seem to stop the video role of the dream in his head. The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled his ears. It was a sound he knew well, both from his time in sports as well as his other 'extra curricular activities'. But what killed him was the team wasn't beating him. They were beating Kurt. Dave had screamed, begged for them to stop, to hurt him instead. He had never been so happy to get a pillow in the face in his life.

Still, he couldn't get the look on Kurt's face out of his mind. It was the same hurt look Dave saw flash over his beautiful face ever time Dave had slammed him into a locker.

"There you are." The sound of his dad's voice pulled Dave out of his thoughts. And while he wasn't Dave's favorite conversation these days, all he ever seemed to do was lecture Dave about his grades or 'the incident' as he called Dave's suspension, anything was better than going over that dream again.

Dave looked up and then frowned when his mom and Gram followed his dad into the room, "What's up?"

Gram was wearing her 'let's everybody just stay calm' face and his mom seemed distant. Well, more distant than normal. Dave's gut tightened, whatever was going on, it wasn't good.

"Dave, we need to talk," Dad said as they all took seats around the table. What worried Dave the most was the fact that Gram didn't take time to make her tea. Whenever she came into the kitchen she made tea. Always. Dave's gut turned in on itself.

"Okay," Dave said, drawing out the word. He really didn't know what else to say. His dad looked at his mom, but she didn't meet his gaze. Dave's heart skipped a beat, "Oh my God, you guys are getting divorced!"

"No!" his mom snapped, then, finely looking at Dave, she said more gently, "No, we are not getting divorced."

Dave wasn't sure if he was relieved or not. His parents were never what you would call close. And whatever this was, Dave was starting to get worried that it was going to be worse than just a simple divorce.

"Dave," Dad said his name as if Dave were still ten, "You know things have been hard at my work this last year. And Mom's been working really hard to get that promotion."

Dave nodded, trying to figure out where this was going.

"Well…" Dad looked back to Mom. Dave's eyes followed his dad's.

"I got the job," she said, finely looking at Dave. He was confused. This sounded like good news, so why was everyone so sober? Then she continued, "But it starts with a six month foreign assignment in Spain."

Dave blinked. His Spanish was horrible. "We're moving to Spain?"

"No," his dad said quickly, and Dave's heart started beating again, "We'll stay stateside while Mom's gone."

Unfortunately, his dad continued, "The thing is, my company is closing the Lima office. Temporarily. I'm being transferred to Tampa. Hopefully for about six months too."

At this point, Dave's heart didn't know what to do. His thoughts were going in all different directions. Tampa. Florida. A new school. One without memories of Hummel around every corner. That was both a good thing and a very bad thing. His heart figured out what to do. Panic.

"Now, don't panic," his dad said, seeming to read his thoughts, "We're not going to make you change schools. We know there aren't many hockey teams in Florida and it would be hard for you to get onto a team this late in the year."

Oh, yeah, hockey. The small part of his brain that was still thinking rationally was a little surprised that hadn't even entered his mind. Dave really didn't want to think about the fact that he thought about Hummel but not sports. That was just way to dangerous to contemplate.

"Okay," David said, trying to piece together what this all meant. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. After a quick attempt to force his fatigue fogged brain to logic through what they were saying, Dave gave up. "So, what does that mean for me? Am I staying here by myself? Am I going to have to look after the girls?"

Now there was a scary idea. Him, alone with two teenage girls. No, no, no. If they think his grades were bad now, he couldn't imagine what would happen if he suddenly became a default parent.

"No!" both his parents said together, both sounding horrified at the idea. Even Gram seemed dismayed.

"No," his dad continued, "the twins will come with me. It will be easier for them to adjust to a new school. And I should be back before the summer camps start. No. You'll be staying with Grandma."

Dave blinked. "But Gram lives in the middle of nowhere."

Gram chuckled at this. Dave looked over at her, worried he'd upset her, "No offence, Gram, but how am I supposed to get to school?"

Gram smiled and waved away the comment, "None taken."

"You'll have the truck," his dad said, "You can get drive yourself."

"But it's over an hour from here to school!" Dave was horrified. Now he could roll out of bed, dress, and be in his first class in less than half an hour.

This time it was his dad that laughed, "I guess you'll just have to get up earlier."

Gram reached out and put her hand on his arm, "I know this is a big change, David, but this might be a good time make some changes in the rest of your life as well."

Dave looked around the table. The faces of all the adults were set. There was no way he was going to change any of this. With a sigh, he nodded. What else could he do?

* * *

A/N: I want to say thanks to everybody that has reviewed, alerted, and read this story. It means a lot to me. I have become relatively obsessed with this couple. To the point that every time I listen to music, one of my first thoughts is, 'Could this work for Kurt and Dave?' You'd be surprised how many could. I have at least two other Kurtofsky stories (one paranormal, one future fic) rolling around in my head. Part of me wants to start one or both of my other ideas, and part of me wants to finish this one first (and I'm pretty sure this is going to be a long one). And I have to admit that my time is going to become more scares as grad school starts up again at the end of the month. If anyone has any strong preference one way or the other, feel free to PM me, or leave a review if you prefer.

Oh, and yes, I am well aware that I switched from Hummel to Kurt and back again in this chapter. It was deliberate. Names mean a lot to me, and I use them very consciously.


	6. Open Doors

Sorry for the length of time between posts. As I had worried, the Grad School Monster got me. Oh well. I must admit, I'm far from safe from disappearing again. But I will do my best to update as often as possible.

Part of me also wanted to see what the show was going to do. And I must say, I'm not a huge fan of these long gaps between episodes. But all I can do about it is write my own stuff. Anyway, I was thinking about using the recently aired eps to play out what was happening with the rest of the group, but decided I'm not going to. They can just live in anonymity till I need them.

Oh, and the title comes from the program that Gram is running. One of Gram's famous double chocolate chip cookies for anyone who can name the denomination of her church.

* * *

Dave sighed and pulled the collar of his jacket up higher. Not that it helped. The early January wind whipped around him, sucking away what little heat he had managed absorb during the dive. When he reached the big red doors of the church basement, he had to use two hands to pull the door open. He couldn't help but shake his head. How were the old people who came to this thing supposed to get in when it was all a high school football player could do to get the doors open?

Once inside, he followed the sound of voices to find Gram standing in the middle of the open gymnasium style hall.

"But if we put them on the stage, we'll all have to crane our necks to see them," she was saying to the other white haired lady standing next to her, "We're better off if we put them in front and just arrange the chairs further back."

"But Beatrix," the other woman said, wringing her hands, "that's why we have a stage. So that singers can use it."

"No," Gran said, "We have a stage because forty years ago when they redid this space, they thought that we should have a stage."

"Oh, Beatrix," the other woman said. Dave was starting to get worried about the skin on her hands. If she kept up wringing them at the current pace, the palms would be on the back of her hands soon.

As Dave took a few steps into the room, Gram turned to look at him.

"What do you think, David?" she asked waving him into the room with one hand, while indicating the stage and the area in front of it with the other, "Should we put the singers on the stage or not?"

Dave shrugged, "I don't know. What do they want?"

Gran smiled and chuckled. "I suppose we could just ask them, couldn't we."

Dave just shrugged again and fought the urge to roll his eyes as she reached forwarded and patted his arm. He was still getting used to how much she touched him. Even living with two parents and two sisters before, he got touched more now that he lived with Gram. Whenever she walked by, she would ruffle his hair, or touch his shoulder. He still wasn't sure how he felt about it. But he was coming to the conclusion that it wasn't a bad thing.

All and all, the move to living with Gram hadn't really been that hard. Sure, she lived in the middle of nowhere and it took forever to get to school. And most of his friends lived on the other side of town so it was even worse to go hang out with the guys. But it wasn't all bad. He had more time to get his homework done. He'd actually aced a few tests since school started after Christmas. Granted, the teachers had moved him around after that, assuming he'd been cheating. His math teacher had spent the entire second text staring directly at Dave. He'd still gotten 89% on it.

Gram's reaction had been worth the pressure and the ribbing of the other jocks. The first time she'd seen one of his tests had been accidental. He'd used it as a bookmark for his homework. So he'd left it out on the table when he'd sat down in the kitchen while she made dinner. He'd quickly learned that as long as he did homework while she was around, she'd keep supplying him with cookies and milk. What could he say, bribery worked ever time.

Anyway, when, on one of her trips by to give him some more milk, she'd spotted the test. What had followed had included a few hugs, a lot of praise and even a little babbling. The roast she'd been prepping had been stuck in the fridge under some tinfoil, and they'd gone out to dinner. Now he made sure she saw all his tests. And every time they went out. And as much as he loved eating out, it was the way she looked at him that really made it worth all the work and the jokes. There was such pride in her face that it always made his chest tight.

"David, dear," she said as she patted her pockets in search of her cell phone, "Would you mind going into the storage room and pulling out the chairs."

"That's why I'm here," he said with a shrug. He certainly wasn't there to see what ever singers she had lined up to sing to her group of old folks. Probably some old crooner types.

"Thank you again," she said, looking up at him from her newly located phone, "Holly's son was supposed to stop by and help, but he hurt his back at work."

The way Gram said the last part made Dave doubt she bought that story.

"It's cool," he said, moving off to the back of the room.

"Just stack them near the door," Gram called after him, "I'll find out how they want them arranged."

Ten minutes later, Dave had moved most of the chairs out of the storage room and into the hall. According to Gram, one of the performers happened to be in town early and was headed over to the church to let them know how to set up.

Dave had long since tossed his coat and sweatshirt onto one of the shelves in the storage room. All the chairs were old and heavy, and the old ladies had cranked the heat to max to make the space cozy for all the old folks. Which left Dave sweating.

Whipping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, Dave turned when he heard footsteps in the room behind him. He expected to see Gram, or one of the other little old people. Instead, standing in front of him, looking about as shock as Dave felt, was the Princess himself. Kurt Hummel.

Dave's stomach tightened and his heart when into over drive. Like it always did when he saw him. His first thought was that he looked good in that uniform. Better than what's-his-name that Kurt had brought to school a few months back. His second thought was that he looked tired. Like he hadn't been sleeping. Or eating.

Need overwhelmed Dave. The need to touch Kurt. To ask him what was wrong. To make it better. To kiss his lips. To hold him close and feel his warmth. To breathe in the intoxicating haze that always surrounded Kurt. The need to get as far away from Hummel as possible. All warred in his mind.

"What are you doing here?" Hummel demanded, putting one perfectly formed hand on his equally perfectly formed hip. Dave wanted to put his hand on that hip, to have that hand rest on his chest.

He shook off that thought as quickly as it came. He could not afford to have those thoughts right now. Especially not in a church. Instead, he answered Hummel's anger with anger of his own, "This is my church. What are you doing here?"

"This is your church?" Hummel echoed, disbelieve clear in his voice. As he said it, he ran his eyes over Dave. Dave wanted to crawl into a hole. He knew he looked like crap. He was in his old dirty jeans, that, to spite Gram's great cookies, were starting to get too loose for him, and a old t-shirt that was too small for him, the material stretched tight across his shoulders and arms. But it was from his favorite summer camp. He'd gotten it years ago during the last summer he felt…good about himself. So he wore it ever once and a while. Just to remember those times.

But, memories or not, he still looked like shit. Just like Hummel expected him to look.

Just when he tough it couldn't get any worse, what's-his-face showed up in the door behind Hummel.

"Kurt I-" he stopped mid sentence when he saw Dave, "What are you doing here?"

Hadn't he just answered that?

* * *

I know this is a bit shorter than some of my other chapters, but I figured it was better to get a little something up than nothing at all. Don't worry, I have Kurt's side on tap for next time. Hopefully it won't be too long in the making.


	7. Transport

**A/N: I know, I know. This had been a long time coming. But I must admit I lost my Mojo there for a bit. But I'm back. I hope. I have two or three scenes I really want to write for this story, so I am going to finish it. I promise.**

**Oh, and I know very little about cars, so I apologize if I got that part totally wrong.**

* * *

Kurt's heart beat like a hammer in his chest. He told himself that it was fear. Fear at seeing the boy who'd made his life hell for so long. Or tried to tell himself that anyway.

But the traitorous side of his mind wouldn't shut up and kept reminding him that his heart rate had jumped before Karofsky had turned around. When Kurt had come into the room and come face to…well back…with that large expanse of muscle barely covered in old tee knit. The shoulders were perfectly wide, with strong flanks leading to a nice waist. Granted the jeans were a bit too loose for Kurt's taste, even on a man's man, but they showed enough of the wearer's ass to know it was a nice one.

And then Karofsky had turned around. And Kurt had to deal with the fact that he had been ogling his tormentor's ass. What right did he have to have such a fine behind? It just wasn't right. The world was so unfair.

And then there was his front. As he let his eyes run over Karofsky, ostensibly to demean him, Kurt's breathing hitched. As nice as Karofsky's shoulders were from behind, his front was twice as impressive. Who would have known under that letterman jacket were pecks and guns of steel. For one crazy moment, Kurt wanted to run his hands up the other boy's stomach, which was considerably flatter that Kurt had ever imagined, over his pecks and down his arms. An ever crazier thought followed that: what would it feel like to be wrapped securely in those arms?

Okay, that was just out and out insanity. The only thing those arms ever did to Kurt was throw him into things. Lockers. Dumpsters. Toilets. They were not and would never be safe places to hide. And the sooner his deviant imagination got that through its head the better.

"Kurt I- What are you doing here?" Blaine's voice behind him made Kurt jump. He spun to face Blain, heat rising to bloom in his cheeks. He hopped that the guilt he felt wouldn't be too obvious on his face. Luckily, Blain was looking at Karofsky not him. Which gave Kurt a chance to school his features before he was more closely examined.

Karofsky made no attempt to answer Blaine and the silence became increasingly uncomfortable.

"Apparently this is his church," Kurt ventured, happy to hear none of his rioting emotions in his voice.

"Really?" Blaine said, looking back and forth between Kurt and Karofsky, "I had you pegged for a more Evangelical. No offence."

Karofsky didn't say anything, but turned back to the stack of chairs in front of him. Heaving them up, he turned and started towards them. "If you don't want to get run over I suggest you get out of the way."

Kurt and Blaine plastered themselves to either side of the hall as Karofsky passed by them. The smell of him surrounded Kurt as he passed. Sweat and aftershave. Soap and deodorant. All spice and no sweet. Kurt's heart did another running leap as his traitorous mind imagined how much better it would smell if Kurt's nose was pressed to the hollow below the strong jaw.

After Karofsky had disappeared around a corner, Blaine stepped up beside Kurt and said quietly, "I had no idea he was that ripped."

Kurt glared at him before flouncing off down the hall back towards the main part of the church.

* * *

Kurt stepped out of the church's side door and into the parking lot. Two large lamp posts illuminated the snow swept square of pavement. It was mostly empty. No surprise since the gig had ended over an hour and a half ago. Kurt would have been long gone too if he hadn't got caught up in a conversation with a sweet little old lady about the comparative genius of Ella Fitzgerald verses Aretha Franklin.

Gripping his keys between his fingers, Kurt headed towards his car parked at the edge of the lot on the far side of an old truck and domestic sedan.

"Try it again, Gram," a familiar voice said from the front of the sedan making Kurt's footsteps flatter. He took another two steps and saw Karofsky leaning over the engine block of the vehicle. The hood was up, cutting of Kurt's view of Karofsky torso, but not his ass. Though he hated to admit it even to himself, Karofsky had a great ass. Kurt listened to the car make a light clicking sound, telling himself he was contemplating what to do. Yeah, he was doing that, not ogling Karofsky. Much.

A large part of Kurt wanted to leave Karofsky to his karmic comeuppance. But his father had taught him never to leave a motorist in distress. Unless it was dangerous. And as much as he disliked Karofsky, he somehow doubted the other boy would do him any serious damage in the parking lot of his church. Besides, his 'Gram' was a sweet old lady. He doubted she would take too kindly to Karofsky doing anything to him.

With a sigh, Kurt trudged around to the front of the car. Crossing his arms low across his belly, he said, "You're alternator is dead. You need a new one."

Karofsky's head snapped around towards him. He simply stared at Kurt, as if unable to form English words. He was quiet so long, Kurt began to wonder if the football and hockey player had taken another hit to the head this season.

"Shit." The word cut through the silence. Kurt was shocked. So was Karofsky. They both looked to the old lady behind the wheel. She had the grace to blush. "Gramps looked after the cars. I was worried something like this was going to happen. And I have to help Mary Ellen with the preparation for the rummage sale on Monday."

The forlorn look on her face was too much for Kurt. Pulling out his smart phone, he logged into his dad's inventory system. Flicking his eyes over the car quickly, he entered the make and model information and pulled up the appropriate part. Without looking up, Kurt said, "My dad has the part in stock for two hundred. That's before labor of course, but I could have it fixed for you, probably by tomorrow."

"Why?" Karofsky asked, the word a bark of surprise.

"David!" his grandmother said in the voice only grandmother's had. Turning to look at Kurt, she continued, "That is very sweet of you, young man. We do appreciate it. Don't we, David?"

Her tone didn't give Karofsky much choice for an answer, "Yeah, sure."

"Give me your number and I'll have them make arrangements with you tomorrow."

Still staring at Kurt like he had grown an extra head, Karofsky rattled off a phone number almost faster than Kurt could enter it into his phone. With a nod to both of them, he continued to his car and slid behind the wheel.

Making his way through the small town, he slipped his earpiece in and gave his dad a call.

"Hey, kido," his dad said, picking up after the second ring, "Long time, no hear, what's up?"

"Hi, Dad," Kurt said, unable to stop himself from smiling at his dad's happy tone. That was one thing he had to give Carole, she did make his dad happy. "Can you come out to Marysville tomorrow and switch the alternator out in a late model Taurus? I put a hold on the part already."

Kurt heard his dad blow out a breath, "No, I can't. Not until Tuesday at the earliest. The shops booked full."

Before Kurt could get too worked up about what he was going to say to Karofsky when he called him to tell him, his dad continued, "Hey, I know! It's Friday night, why don't you come home for the night. You can pick up the part yourself in the morning. You said you're a little low on spending cash. You can keep the profit for yourself."

That stopped him. Luckily he was in front of a red light, so it worked all around._ C_ould he really fix Karofsky's car? He did need the money. And to hear Karofsky say 'thank you', it might be worth it.

So, instead of turning onto the southbound lane and heading back to Dalton, Kurt turned north, and headed towards home.


End file.
